Sofka Zinovieff - Putney

Proceeding before she could regret it, Jane tapped ‘confirm’ for the friend request and typed her reply.

Hi Daphne. Great to hear from you. It certainly has been a long time. Yes, I’m still around. Still Wandsworth. All good.

She deleted the next sentences – How strange that you are back in our old haunts. I often think about Barnabas Road – instead finishing off with a simple, Love, Jane.

Before she had taken another gulp of tea there was a jovial ping from the laptop as a new message popped up from Daphne. Janey! Good morning!!! How amazing. Can I call you? What’s your number?This was going much faster than Jane had imagined. Slowly, she tapped in her house phone number, and again the response was almost instantaneous. Jane let it ring several times before picking up.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Daphne said. ‘I’ve been reminiscing about our times together. I was so excited when I found you on Facebook.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about the delay. I don’t use it much and I only… wow, Daphne, it’s so strange to be talking with you again. As if we were still fourteen or something.’ She had wanted to keep a distance, place markers of her limits, but she already felt herself being pulled into Daphne’s seductive orbit.

‘God, you can’t imagine how much I’ve been thinking about those years,’ Daphne said. ‘I’m living in this flat that’s literally on the other side of the river from our old house. It’s crazy. Like tripping down memory lane each time I look out of the window.’

There was a brief silence then Daphne said, ‘Are you busy today?’

‘Um. Well, I’m about to go running, but…’

‘After that? Could we meet? Oh do come over here and see my new flat, my new life. Please. I’d love to see you after all this time.’

Jane didn’t reply immediately, giving Daphne time to fall into her old role as the daring, dashing one. ‘Oh go on, Janey. Live dangerously! Take the risk. What do you have to lose? If it’s a failure, we never have to meet again. I’m a reformed character, I promise.’

A flash of annoyance nearly led Jane to say she was busy all day, but the truth was that she was completely free. In the past she often worked over weekends, and even now she and Michael both frequently brought back some paperwork. But since Josh and Toby had left, hers was fitted in easily to a couple of hours on Sunday evening. Without the boys around time had expanded, and she found whole swathes of it at weekends, reminding her of her student days.

‘OK. Shall I come for a coffee then?’

Daphne’s response was touchingly sweet. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy.’

Sitting in the front seat on the top deck of the 220 heading into Putney, she looked out at places that were familiar from a lifetime living in south-west London, but that had also been the backdrop to her friendship with Daphne. Her entire body was stiff with anticipation and revived reminiscences. The first time she’d visited Daphne’s house had been a revelation. It must have been in the spring term of their first year, so they were just about twelve. They sat in the same place in the bus as she was now, but enveloped in a miasma of cigarette smoke spiked with odours of bubble gum and salt and vinegar crisps. Jumping off at the traffic lights near the bottom of the High Street, they walked to the corner shop on Putney Bridge Road to buy sweets. With lips green-tinged from sugary, glutinous worms, they stopped to ring a random doorbell on Maresfield Road and then sprinted off, giggling, short blue skirts flapping, schoolbags banging.

By the time they reached Barnabas Road they were panting and clinging to each other’s arms with excitement. Naturally, Daphne was the fast one – the girl who won the 100 yards at school almost without trying. Following her friend downstairs to the kitchen, Jane’s first emotion was bewilderment at finding so many people there. A tall man with a long nose and straggly, fair hair was leaning back precariously on his chair and waved extravagantly at Daphne, almost losing his balance. ‘Hello, darling. Who’s your little friend?’ He looked mad to Jane – turquoise velvet trousers, bare feet and a large, multicoloured scarf wrapped around his neck – but she appreciated the ‘little’ part of his question.

‘Hello, Ed. This is Jane. Jane, this is Edmund.’ Daphne sounded rather firm, like a mother talking to a child. ‘And don’t be patronising. We’re not little.’ Daphne was good with the quick retort; Jane envied her that, generally finding the reply she required only hours later. The man looked amused rather than chastised, and held out his arm to Daphne, who meandered over to give him a casual kiss on the cheek. It took some minutes before Jane realised that this was Daphne’s father – it was the first time she’d witnessed a child calling a parent by their Christian name.

There seemed to be no sign of a mother, but there was a handsome, imposing woman in floor-sweeping skirt who turned out to be an opera singer. Also sitting at the table was a pretty research student of Edmund’s called Dizzy. It was not Edmund but a younger man who jumped up on the other side of the room and came to speak to the girls. He was slim with a smallish build and wore a baggy, collarless shirt and battered lace-up boots.

‘What have you girls been up to then? Lurking with intent? Didn’t Miss Driver deal out a detention today, Daff?’ He seemed to know a great deal – even the name of their mean-spirited form teacher, who enjoyed keeping pupils behind after school.

‘Yes, but we’re bored with lurking now. Come on, Jane. Let’s go to my room.’ Daphne turned and led the way out of the kitchen. The man came to the foot of the stairs and then followed them halfway up until Daphne stopped.

‘I got you something.’ Jane saw the man smile as he extracted a little package from his pocket. Her friend took the gift and pulled off the wrapping paper. It was a brass model of three tiny monkeys and the man showed how their paws were placed to cover eyes, ears and mouth. ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’ As he spoke, he held on to Daphne’s wrist with one hand and pointed out details with the other.

Daphne’s hands were already familiar to Jane – small and wiry, they were hands to pick locks or tie complicated knots. Her nails were bitten and sometimes coloured with felt-tip pens or patterned with matt-white corrector fluid – something she did when bored in class. She had several cheap silver rings, including a puzzle ring that Jane coveted.

‘Thanks.’ Daphne sounded as careless as though he’d just passed her the bread at table. But her expression was one of pleasure and of power. ‘Come on!’ she gestured to Jane. Then in an exaggerated American accent, ‘Let’s get outta here.’

The last time Jane had spoken with Daphne must have been at least twenty years earlier when she was living in some sort of experimental cooperative outside London. So it was odd to make her way to the entrance of an old-fashioned, redbrick mansion block with well-trimmed gardens and polished brass door furniture. But then nobody had gone through more transformations than her old schoolfriend. Maybe it should not be surprising to find her ensconced in this haut-bourgeois residence.

Daphne was waiting in an open doorway at the end of a muffled, non-descript corridor on the fourth floor. As they hugged, Jane smelled a rich, amber-scented perfume and noticed how like her mother she had become. Ellie had been beautiful in the way that aged well – with olive skin and a face so mobile with expression and with such intensity of gaze that you’d never notice if there was a wrinkle.